


Send a question in the wind

by towardsmorning



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towardsmorning/pseuds/towardsmorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra visits the Western Air Temple.</p><p>"The echo when she walks sounds blasphemous, like she's disturbing someone's grave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send a question in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of a continuation of the third AU from [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/442906), where Korra gains her airbending, loses the other elements and is not given them back by Aang. But it could theoretically be an AU in which there is simply a longer period of time between her losing them and her getting them back.
> 
> I may also be doing an extension of the fourth ficlet in that collection, too.

The Western Air Temple clings to the underside of a cliff, and Korra clings in turn to the glider she only just knows how to use as she looks for a place to land. She feels acutely aware of her weight as she flies, feeling too tall, too heavy, too much; her ankles feel sore where they wrap around the glider and her arms ache. It's a relief when she finally touches down, collapsing on the cool stone floor. The autumn sun is low and warm in the sky, casting long shadows. She looks around, squinting.

She has never been to any of the temples before. The decay she sees doesn't take her by surprise, because of _course_ it's in disrepair, everybody knows that the temples are on the slow march towards becoming ruins, may even be there already. What takes her by surprise is the feeling of stillness, even with the gentle wind that's blowing through her hair; the only thing she can hear is that wind rushing past her ears, and even though she's used to much colder than this, Korra shivers a little. Her hands brush the stone floor, tracing patterns in the undisturbed dirt on top. Her fingers, at least, feel a little less clumsy than her feet.

Now that she's here, she doesn't know what to do.

When Tenzin had asked, she had brushed him off, voice easy. _I'll figure it out_ she'd said, and laughed aloud at his repressed sigh, knowing that he had given up despairing at her for not thinking things true a long time ago. _At least there aren't many ways you can make trouble,_ he'd told her, and so she had left with his blessing, and a little of his envy. _I haven't been in years,_ he'd said, _If you see anything unusual, or important, tell me when you get back._

Korra straightens her back and breathes in with the wind. She can feel the air around and in her, but only faintly, and the spark of frustration she feels at how _hard_ it is nearly overwhelms the sensation. She can airbend now; she can feel the air at last, shifting as though a living thing, but somehow that's worse than not feeling it at all, because knowing that something is out of your reach is so much more frustrating than simply not really understanding that it's there at all.

She pushes the feeling down as best she can and enters the temple, trying to step lightly and acutely aware that she isn't managing. Her feet feel too clumsy in their well-worn boots, too large. This temple wasn't built for her, and every step reminds her of the fact.

Inside, the damage to the temple is more obvious. She spies at least two old, old scorch marks, ugly wounds almost hidden now behind the plant life that has sprung up in the sheltered interior. There are stones around the edge as big as her head and bigger, crumbling. The shadows are even more pronounced here, and the breeze so much gentler that Korra's ears begin to ring from the lack of sound. The echo when she walks sounds blasphemous, like she's disturbing someone's grave. Water pools in the pitted hollows of the worn, uneven floor, glinting.

She wishes she could feel more than just a flicker at the wind that brushes past; she wishes she could feel the stone of the building and the cliff above, could feel the tug of water by her feet, could feel her own warmth inside herself. She wants to firebend some light and warmth into this place, to clear out the damp, to fix the holes. But she can't, and the wind feels so _distant_ , and now the air is closer to still it's also even closer to silent- but that's why she's here, isn't it? To try and make that connection, to try and fix things, so that air feels like something whole, feels like enough. If she can only have one element, she wants to really have it. She wants to _be_ it and understand it, however impossible it seems.

 _Maybe it'll help me talk to Aang,_ she'd told Tenzin before she left, _Being where he was. Or maybe it'll help me focus. The Western Temple isn't far, anyway. I won't be gone for long._

Korra sits in the middle of the room, legs crossed. She feels heavy, like the atmosphere is pressing down on her, all the air that seems to pull itself out of her reach collapsing on her shoulders, her neck, bowing her head. She has never felt less focused, which is saying something, Korra thinks. Her eyes close, but only to avoid having to look at the empty, silent room, dust motes drifting in the autumn sunset filtering through gaps in the wall. The darkness behind her eyelids is a little better, though, and she tries to do as Tenzin taught. Meditation comes easier now than it used to, but she still can't quite get her mind to blank itself the way she wants it to. Being as tired as she is helps a little. But only a little, and Korra has to unclench her jaw after a while, remind herself that frustration will not help.

The last time the Avatar was here, it was summer and they had made it something close to alive again, if just for a little while. There are snatches of feeling itching in her skull, faint and insubstantial, and Korra knows they aren't hers. When Aang had lived here, he'd been thinking about family, and connections, and war. Closeness forged by desperation, forgiveness given at the last second and watchfulness as every day passed; they had built something in this temple.

Korra pushes those feelings away, breathing in and listening to the wind. If air is all she has left, then she has to build something with it, she has no choice- this seems as good a place as any to try.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lullaby by Sia.


End file.
